


Linger

by Cuppamog



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Character, Canon in my heart, Crying, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuppamog/pseuds/Cuppamog
Summary: Vince gets caught in the rain after a night out and Howard helps him take off his makeup leading to a big mess of thoughts and feelings.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is some absolute Victorian level pining, yearning, and hand touching yall

Howard clicks his tongue at the sight before him as distasteful as any mother hen.

“I told you to bring an umbrella, ya great sparkling idiot.”  
Vince had entered the Nabootique shivering and drenched, his hair having lost all of its painstaking backcombing and fruity smelling sprays. Now it hung over his head in a sulky way.  
He shot Howard a look, all his sharp features pulled into a pout before making a beeline for the stairs and miraculously not tripping over his heels on the way. Clearly, an “I told you so” had not been what he wanted to hear. Earlier that night he’d gone out wrapped in a tunic brimming with psychedelic patterns all drawing the eye to the low hung collar. He’d found the thing in an unassuming shop the week before and hadn’t stopped fooling with it since. Howard had listened to him pitching outfit ideas, watched him sketch little mockups in pastels, and been subjected to a front seat of a runway show with only one model. Vince had gone out grinning despite the clouds and Howard twisted up his guts trying to decide if he hated the optimism or loved it.  
That look lasts only a moment but it stays in Howard’s mind after Vince is gone. An after-image of an angelic face flushed high on his cheekbones, kissed by the cold rain. Howard suddenly envies the rain. He sighs, feeling the tickling of guilt in his stomach, and closes the shop.  
There is a trail left of wet triangular boot prints all the way up the stairs into the flat. Howard finds the end of it is their shared bedroom. As he peeks in he’s hit across the face with a colorful scarf. He pulls it down cautiously to reveal Vince frantically throwing his wardrobe over the room. He knows better than to fully enter.  
“Vince-”  
“I know! You’ve already said I should have brought it Howard I’m cold, not deaf!”  
There’s silence for a moment before Vince turns to see Howard holding one of his own robes out to him. He clears his throat softly from where he’s hunched in the door. His eyes are set on a mauve jacket sprawled on the floor rather than on Vince.  
“Just thought you might want something a bit more practical,” he mutters.  
Vince’s features aren’t quite so sharp now.“Are you sayin’ my clothes aren’t practical?”  
“That’s exactly what I’m saying and you know it, now c’mon.” He shakes the robe at him.  
Vince rolls his eyes but takes the peace offering and holds the soft fabric to his chest. He feels a bit warmer now.  
“Thanks, Howard.”  
Howard hums, satisfied with his work. “Yeah, don’t mention it, you look like you're shaking out of your shiny little bitch boots.”As if on cue a shiver shakes through his small frame.  
A quiet giggle bubbles out of him either from the shiver or from Howard’s words he doesn’t know. The sound brings Howard’s gaze to his and the look on his face makes Vince feel as though he’s made of sugar and the rain has melted him into a puddle on their rug. Howard’s eyes are lidded and he’s smiling like a cat in a sunbeam, illuminating his crows-feet. It boggles his mind how Howard can fit so much feeling into those crab-like peepers. But just as his teeth start to peek out from the smile he suddenly stops. Then, before Vince can even open his mouth he mumbles something about a towel and shuffles out of the room.  
Vince’s mouth feels dry, the only part of him at the moment that is. These strange blips in time always leave him with a brain tied up in knots trying to understand what’s going on in that jazzy head. Sometimes he tries to imagine what Howard’s brain looks like, how it works. All he can conjure is a huge beige space with a filing cabinet in the middle. Inside the drawers there’s multitudes of jazz knowledge and hundreds of names for every shade of brown. He laughs to himself and shakes his head as he starts the process of peeling off his clothes.  
He’s worn Howard’s clothes before. In fact, he takes any opportunity he can to do so. Each previous wear floods back to him when he wraps the cushiony fabric around himself. It’s massive on him. In a routine indulgence, he scrunches the collar up around his cheeks and breathes in the smells of tobacco, Howard’s spicy-smelling soap, and the smell that lingers from Howard’s own skin. From a far off part of the flat he hears the hiss and clank of their ancient water-heater springing to life and smiles to himself as he walks into the bathroom. Howard must be running him a bath.  
Puffs of steam are drifting out of the bathroom like miniature clouds, Vince looks like a vampire coming through the fog.  
“Sit,” Howard pats the counter where he’s set a folded towel as a cushion for him. He hops up, watching Howard with more concentration than the taller man’s ever seen.  
Vince motions to the bath with his head. “Is that for me?”  
“No, it’s for the old lady next door Mrs. Stevenson.” Howard deadpans while rummaging through the cupboard.  
“Oh I’m going right back out in the rain then I’d rather not see that.” Vince laughs, swinging his legs off the edge.  
“Be my guest, it seemed to work out swimmingly for you the first time.” Vince watches Howard going through his brain filing cabinet in the section labelled jokes. “And by that I do mean you look as though you’ve had to swim back.” He smirks.  
“Are you gonna let me take a bath now or did you want to watch?”  
“Well, you can’t very well take a bath still looking like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“Like a retired Vampire, Vince.”  
“Retired??” Vince protests. “How dare you! I don’t have to put up with this kind of abuse I’m moving’ in with Leroy.” He smiles around his words in a way that makes Howard unable to stop his own smile from spreading across his face. “What are you doing anyway I can take off my own makeup ya know, I do it every night-well-” he scrunches up his nose and bobs his head to the side. “Every morning technically.”  
“Not with your hands looking like that, no sir,” he nods to Vince’s quivering and pale fingers, returning from the cupboard with a flannel.  
Insistence like that is what piques Vince’s interest, he certainly doesn’t need Howard to take his makeup off but he’s curious. So he closes his eyes to signal to Howard he acquiesces.  
Howard wraps his index finger in the flannel snugly, running it under the tap before leaning forward to gently swipe the tip over Vince’s top lid. The cloth comes back smudged with charcoal-colored eyeliner and little flecks of glitter.  
He tries his best to keep his eyes on the task at hand, feeling a bit like Vince is naked and he shouldn’t look. Which was silly seeing as he was in fact naked if not for Howard’s robe. Both of those thoughts are swept under the rug though in favor of looking at his face.  
It’s rare that he allows himself to look at Vince, much less this closely. Touch is an altogether different story. Of course, there are times when they’re forced into such close proximity. Being tied together on a frozen pillar or clinging to the other as some grotesque thing hobbles towards them. Those times though, they’re different. Nothing is quite clear when your blood is heated with the rushing feeling of adrenaline and your lungs feel like they’re trying to take in air and expel it at once. Memories from these moments often bleed together like watercolors, becoming a blotchy mess that was meant to be a lovely picture of a vase but now it’s difficult to tell.  
He gives in and, just for now, Howard allows himself to look.  
Hesitantly at first, he lets his gaze diverge to where his cloth is not. Now he’s on a foray into dangerous territory. His eyes trace a pathway where he wishes his fingertips could travel. Over the soft curve of a cheekbone, past the carefully groomed sideburns that frame them, and down a jaw that is somehow all at once sharp and curved delicately. He traces each one of his eyelashes resting on his cheek, then down the elegant slope of his nose but he stops there just below it. The pair of pink lips with a cupid’s bow curved into a content smile. They couldn’t be more inviting if they opened at that moment and asked Howard to kiss them. He feels his face warm and his hand pause in its work.  
That’s enough looking for now. And probably enough to tide him over for the next millennia.  
Vince opens an eye just a squeak to get a look at the expression he already knows is on Howard’s face. His eyebrows are knitted together and his mustache pulled down over his frown. Vince calls it his grouchy old owl look. There are two reasons that the grouchy old owl will fly in and make itself known on Howard’s face. The first is when Vince has done something that Howard finds particularly distasteful, like saying that “52nd Street” was a seminal jazz work. The other occasion it appears is when the big man is concentrating intensely on something. In this instance it might be both. Vince smiles wider to suppress a laugh.  
The flannel follows the dark trail of makeup over the apple of his cheekbone. “Close your eye.” He shuts it obediently. “Can’t concentrate with your huge blue peepers ogling’ at me. I may have poked one out.” Howard grumbles.  
“Then I could have an eyepatch, bit like Bowie, it’d be genius.”  
“Are those in season?”  
“Doesn’t matter,” Vince leans away in order to really make his point. “As soon as everyone’d see the prince of Camden was wearing one, they’d be all over! Attack of the eyepatches!” He waves his hand in a broad sweeping motion as if setting the scene then nods to himself.  
Howard scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Alright your highness.”  
Vince opens his mouth to give a vibrant and detailed speech on the extensive history of Bowie’s textile decisions but he’s stopped. The culprit is a large warm hand that has taken a hold of his chin to pull him back into place. It catches him so off guard his mouth stays gaping like a fish. For a breath, he freezes, his eyes the size of saucers. Then, that once in a blue moon occurrence happens again, he and Howard’s eyes meet and make themselves at home in the other’s gaze. Vince searches Howard’s face and gets nothing from it. But this search seems to knock something loose in that big head of his.  
Howard drops his eyes to the floor, removes his hand, and clears his throat and just like that the moment is over. Vince closes his eyes with his head even more in knots than it was before and Howard returns the cloth to his face.  
Being a caregiver is something that has always come so easily to Howard Moon, man of action. For a good many reasons, he’d rather not be on the receiving end of such things. He wasn’t supposed to be. Putting a dab of ointment on a papercut and securely placing a bandage on it gave him a little thrill of accomplishment. It was like putting together stationary village or an itinerary. In first aid everything had its own purpose and there was a set of rules to follow. On top of that he was a leader, he was the ruler of his own kingdom, and that meant also keeping everyone safe. Granted, the kingdom may have been a stuffy flat with decor that felt rather reminiscent of a headache. And aforementioned, “everyone” was one bouncy idiot, but he was a whole kingdom of trouble on his own. Howard couldn’t complain. After all, who else was going to take care of him?  
Finished with his meticulous face washing, Howard straightens his back which lets out a sound like a bootheel on gravel. “All clear little man.”  
“Finally,” Vince sighs and raises his eyebrows into his bangs in an impressive display of overcompensation. “Now get out I’ve got to take this off properly.”  
Howard stops in the doorway. “Pardon?”  
Vince turns from where he’s checking the bathwater, his expression jovial. “Yeah,” he laughs through his teeth. “You didn’t think I just run a rag over this, did you? I’ve got at least another four products, not to mention my hair-”  
“Alright,” Howard holds his hand up to stop yet another speech. “Do whatever you need to do I guess.” He shuts the door.  
Immediately he hears the radio being switched on. Bowie’s lilting voice leaks through the space in the doorframe joined by Vince’s own softer rendition. Howard much prefers the latter.  
While his whirlwind flatmate is safely contained, Howard decides to get something useful done. Most certainly not to distract himself from the way his hand is tingling where it made contact with Vince’s soft visage. Like the glitter that had been on his cheeks had seeped into his blood while he wasn’t paying attention. Vince’s brain cell did wear a mirrorball suit come to think of it. Howard chuckled, wiping his hands on his corduroys. He taps his fingers on his thighs as he sorts his thoughts back into neat little rows.  
There are a number of places in the flat that need a certified Howard Moon tidying. Any time Naboo and Bollo were out, as they were for this week, he stands outside their room itching to sort through the avalanche of clothes and knick knacks. But he knows better than to go anywhere near it. Instead, he walks into their room and begins to put Vince’s clothes back in their proper place. Even though it’s a great risk he’s taking by touching Vince’s things at all, it’s less than touching Naboo’s.  
When he does walk in later tonight with Howard’s robe practically swallowing him whole, he’ll complain that Howard’s gotten his jazz hands all over his clothes. He’ll click his tongue and put his hands on his narrow hips and that’ll be all that comes of it. Vince may have a cosmetic regimen longer than an encyclopedia but he would never dream of lifting a finger to organize his clothes. Not even a shoe rack.  
A loud crooning voice interrupts Howard’s sorting. Vince is belting out some song that’s really got him going. He scoffs and picks up another frilly garment but pauses before hanger meets cloth.  
The angelic face to which the voice belongs has popped back into his mind. He groans, shutting his eyes against the shining blue eyes and the gentle curve of pink lips that flutter through his mind like butterflies. Same as the ones occupying his insides. He covers his face and feels the burning in his cheeks. Such a display of emotion had become such a common occurrence that he had factored it into his daily schedule. And it was almost daily. Vince would flash him a smile or touch his arm or call Howard some name he probably thought was very clever. Last week he had made Howard’s tea more perfect than Howard himself had ever made it and Howard had felt like he was on the moon. Looking at these fleeting images of Vince was torture, not enough but in the same breath almost too much. It was like seeing the morning sunlight filtering in through the curtains without feeling the warmth. He lets out a shaky breath and listens as it hisses through his hands.  
Whatever part of Howard had convinced him to reach out for Vince’s face was going to get a stern talking-to later.  
“Howard?”  
Vince was standing in the doorway just as Howard had predicted, but the wine-colored robe was certainly not being utilized to its full covering potential. He hadn’t heard the bathroom door open.  
“Vince!” Howard says like it’s an accusation.  
“S’my name, yeah.”Vince tilts his head, his brow knitted slightly. “Howard are you alright?” Howard normally looked crab-like, but this color on his face was leaning too far onto the crab side of things for Vince’s comfort. He steps fully into the room, noticing there was now a floor to walk on, and reaches out to feel Howard’s forehead for a temperature.  
“Don’t touch me.”  
Right on cue, so he was at least his normal self.  
“Alright,” Vince withdraws his hand. His mouth draws up into a smirk.“But why’s it any different than you grabbing my face like an ape?”  
Howard goes even redder if possible, his eyes seem to be stuck on Vince’s hand where it hangs at his side like any minute it could launch an attack. Vince’s smirk disappears, concern returning to his features.  
“I’m fine Vince, honestly.” Howard argues, his own voice comes out sounding less defiant than he’d like it to. A bit less steadfast leader and more child trying to leave the house without the hat and scarf their mum has wrapped around them.  
Vince doesn’t look convinced and crosses his arms over his chest. Which is being framed by the robe in a way Howard would rather not look at too long.  
“Please Howaaard,” He whines, changing tactics again. “It’ll make me feel better, you look like you’ve been in a sauna.” It was only half a lie. On the occasion that Howard did get sick he never made such a fuss about this small exchange of Vince’s hand on his forehead. Howard may not have a fever but something felt off.  
Howard glances down at Vince’s exposed collarbones again before opting to just shut his eyes completely. He thinks about pushing past him, going into the kitchen, and making himself some tea. One main flaw of this plan being that he would have to get closer to the other man.  
Vince sighs softly with a look on his face that had Howard’s eyes been open would have gone straight to his heart. “Look, what if I hold my hand here and you come to me, yeah?”  
Howard Moon is a man of action, a leader, he doesn’t retreat into the kitchen to make tea no matter how much he wants to. And it’ll make Vince feel better. He opens his eyes again to see Vince holding his hand up and in front of Howard’s face.  
He holds his hand steady while Howard looks up at the ceiling in what he thinks is exasperation. He leans into Vince’s hand so the knuckles graze over his forehead feather-light. Brown eyes blink rapidly and stare resolutely ahead, something Vince has collected in his extensive “Guide to Howard Moon” in the back of his mind. It’s a signal he’s flustered, not quite a nervous tick, so Vince watches it carefully. Howard’s eyes become exceptionally pretty when he blinks them like that. If he wanted to he could bat his eyelashes and Vince would even listen to jazz. He could get lost in them. Unfortunately, he has just now and pulls his hand slowly away without having registered any temperature at all.  
Vince steps away and begins unwrapping the towel from his hair. “You feel fine,” he states as nonchalantly as he can seeing as he’s talking to himself.  
“Right,” Howard says more as a start to getting something done than really conveying anything. “Gonna go…” what was he going to do? Right. “Put the kettle on.”  
He doesn’t outright run from the room but it was a bit too much like he had just realized he’d left the stove on. Vince chews the end of his finger in thought. Something he used to get his hand slapped for in his school days. Always extremely helpful in these situations, his brain replays a film reel of what had just happened on repeat. Particularly the expression on Howard’s face. Maybe he shouldn’t have prodded so much. Maybe if Howard didn’t want him to care so maybe he shouldn’t. He knew Howard liked to keep all of his feelings locked away in a saxophone case but it was starting to feel personal. One minute Vince thought he was leaning away too far the next minute Howard looked like a scared rabbit. It wasn’t like them. With them it had always been easy. Although he’d like to pretend it weren’t true Vince had never quite gotten a strong foothold on understanding people. From the outside you’d never know it, but the case was Vince found his own path through life and people seemed to think he knew what he was doing. Howard was the same, simply a very different path from his, but that’s why they worked. Why they had always been able to speak without speaking.  
The nail he’s biting reaches the quick and he curses as the taste of copper tinges his tongue.  
\-------------------------------  
“I can’t believe this!”  
The view outside their grimy second-story window is bleak. Rain on its own wasn’t out of the ordinary, but this was a full-blown storm. A snare drum of thunder rolled by as if to make its point. Vince could still go out, of course he could. Even if the rain was nearly rushing by horizontally at this point, it’s not as if he couldn’t just get a cab. He swipes his index finger over the fogged up window and draws a little frowny face, then gives it some thick angry eyebrows. The only needle in this haystack was a little something tugging at the back of his mind to stay in. Maybe it was the lingering fog over his mind of what had happened last time he went out in weather like this. He watches a couple down in the street running through the rain. Each of them is holding a side of a jacket over their heads but it’s not doing much good. They get to the other side and duck under an overhang. Finally huddled together out of the storm, their blurry faces meet in a kiss. Vince huffs and turns to pout more directly at someone.  
“Can’t believe what, that the weather didn’t answer your beck and call?” Howard says from where he’s sat on the couch. He doesn’t look up from his book “An Abridged History of The Fountain Pen: From Quil to Quel.”  
“Well it should, everyone else does,” Vince strides across the room and jingles with every step like he’s wearing a hundred tiny bells. “‘Sides I spent ages on this look!” He twirls in place to demonstrate a brilliant ensemble of silver trinkets and dangling charms over white silky fabric.  
At this display Howard frowns and looks up from his book. Unseen in Vince’s chest his heart does a little Victory shimmy. “I don’t see why you couldn’t wear it another time.”  
“I can’t just wear it another time,” the jingling man says with his best northern flavor. “It ain’t just going down to the corner store Howard.” He huffs again just for good measure. “As if you understand.”  
Howard lifts a hand defensively. “Hey, I spend quite a bit of thought on my look. Takes time for a man to hone his senses of style as sharp as I have. My senses are honed, sir.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Yeah? Must have taken a long time to make that shirt out of your nan’s sheets. I saw you in there snipping away at them.”  
“She had very nice sheets!”  
“Howard it’s a paisley nightmare, I’ve had actual nightmares of that thing coming to life, touchin’ all my clothes and turning em paisley.” He gets into a hunched stance with his hands curled up in an imitation of claws and puts on a ragged voice. “ooOOOOoo I’m coming for you Vince, all your clothes are gonna look just as bad as me.”  
Howard tilts his head to the side and looks pointedly at Vince. “Hang on, didn’t you get me this shirt?”  
Vince’s face freezes up, his eyes going wide and a whisper of blush on his cheeks.  
“Whatever.” He sulks, tromping away to the bedroom.  
Left alone Howard returns to reading his book Howard sighs contentedly if not a little smug. Looking down his eyes catch on the shirt. Despite Howard not wearing it much it’s been kept in immaculate shape, save for one button that doesn’t quite match. He absentmindedly reaches down and holds it. Vince had tried his best to find one that was just the right shape and color but of course it wasn’t identical. There’d been a hurricane of a strop when Howard had lost the button on one of their adventures, catching it on a branch while running. Oddly enough Howard doesn’t remember the occasion for the shirt being given to him. There may not have been one. It had shocked him to even receive it; his mind had thrown out everything else. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get back into his reading groove he abandons his book on the coffee table with a thump and heads into the kitchen.  
“Anything you fancy for dinner?” He calls to the bedroom as he stares into the fridge. Some quiet shuffling and a curse is all he hears in return.  
“Vince?”  
“What?”  
“Dinner?”  
“What?”  
Howard chuckles, throwing in the towel. Instead of waking up the whole block to ask for dinner plans, he mutters to himself. “Christ, I’ll just make shepherd’s pie.”  
Shepherd’s pie doesn’t take much to make, but it’s just enough to keep his mind occupied. He starts to take out a pan then remembers the record he had bought the other day. He claps his hands and rubs them together in excitement, searching his level of their shared record shelf and pulls out Eastern Sounds. The soft jubilant tones of “The Plum Blossom” begin and Howard feels like he’s on a cloud. No time for jazz trances now it’s time to make a meal.  
A few minutes later he nearly jumps out of his skin when the music stops abruptly. Vince of course standing by the record player in a faded KISS t-shirt and running shorts. Vince has never played a sport in his life.  
“D’you mind? I was listening to that.”  
“It was making me itch, I live here too ya know.” Vince trots over to the kitchen and perches himself on the sliver of counter space they have. Just for good measure, he swings his legs off the edge and tilts his head to rest on his shoulder. The rest of the counter is a jumbled mess of potions and spices though you’d never know which is which.  
“Vince,” He motions with his wooden spoon at the assailant. “Get off the counter, that’s unsanitary.”  
“You don’t make food right on the counter though do you?” He smirks, feeling already that he’s won both battle and war. The smirk slowly blooms into a smile though and reaches his eyes, turning them into blue crescent moons.  
Howard sighs, summoning up the emotional wherewithal of the cragiest oldest mountain he can muster. “I certainly don’t but the counter is for foodstuffs and food preparing items and I don’t think you’re in either of those categories.” He turns back to stirring.  
“Maybe I am on the menu, maybe you’ve not checked it well enough.”  
“I checked it, sir. I checked and rechecked that menu in triplicate. Howard Moon leaves no stone unturned.” He gets to the end of the sentence before the implication at the tip of Vince’s tongue hits him. Maybe I am on the menu.  
Vince can stay on the counter because Howard is not going to turn around for anything now.  
It’s quiet for far too long, Vince starts to feel unsteady, like he’s let his mouth run too far again and it’s tripped over its own heels. “What are you making anyway?” He says quietly, peering over Howard’s shoulder.  
“Shepherd’s pie.”  
The rest of the cooking time is spent volleying back and forth comments. The constant zapping flow of energy feels good, Howard forgets the comment and Vince seems to as well. A few minutes go by this way, until Vince seems to be bored and plops down on the sofa to turn on the TV. He switches through the channels so quickly he can’t possibly be paying attention to the flashing images on it. And he definitely isn’t, he just needs some sound. Eventually he lands on a cozy show that’s some sitcom he can’t properly recognize.  
Right on time Howard joins him on his end of the sofa, handing Vince his plate with a quiet “Watch it, still hot.”  
Vince returns with the same murmured voice “Cheers, Howard.”  
“What’s this?” Howard motions to the lit up screen. Vince shrugs next to him and Howard settles into the meal without further question.  
Warmth and familiarity seep into Howard’s bones. So much so he almost feels like he’s sinking further into the couch. When it had started storming that evening he hadn’t even considered the notion that Vince would stay in. It made him feel a little bit lightheaded. They had nights here together. When one thing or another would land them both in the flat, when Vince would decide to stay with him.  
Nights like these always reminded him of the Zooniverse days when they would cram together on the stinking leather sofa and Vince would wear Howard down until they watched Colobos the Crab. As if he’s still there he feels the ghost of Vince’s touch against his side. Howard didn’t like to be touched much of the time, as anyone around him knew, but Vince’s touch was different. The touches they exchanged were practiced and familiar, Howard always knew he could touch Vince’s hip and he’d know what it meant or squeeze Vince’s arm and he’d know it was Howard’s version of a hug. Or at least it had been easy to do this before Howard had been compromised into such an emotional state. Touch was easier when it didn’t feel like it meant too much. He takes a quick sidelong glance at the man next to him who’s chewing idly on his fork. Unfortunately it doesn’t make him look any less alarmingly beautiful. Howard tries his best to look at the show.  
In no way shape or form is Vince paying attention to the show. That’s why he’d put it on in the first place, his eyes weren’t on the show. They were on Howard.  
It was easy to look at Howard, not just in the sense he was completely oblivious to these kinds of things, but Howard was easy on the eyes. Vince had a sixth sense when it came to people’s eyes on him, it was something he felt so often and usually brushed off. People stared at him for a cheese platter of reasons, and why shouldn’t they? He wasn’t used to being the one staring. Certainly he could admire people, and when he painted someone he had to look at them for quite a long time. Looking at Howard though, felt so different.  
The lines etched in Howard’s face held all of the emotions he’d ever felt, Vince’s favorite were the smile lines that framed his warm eyes. Even if Howard hated them. When Howard smiled it was with every part of his face, his eyes scrunched up and his cheekbones illuminated by it. Sometimes if he let his guard down enough his shoulders would scrunch up by his ears as well. It was a classically handsome face, his strong jaw and the sharp hollow of his cheeks rough with stubble. There was so much to him. Interrupting the stubble below his jaw was a small scar, about 2 inches long. Howard had gotten it from an extradimensional being Naboo had summoned by taking a wrong step in a cake recipe. Vince ached to touch it. In the dip of his cheek Howard had a perfectly placed mole couple of moles just waiting to be kissed. With the mustache now and his soft hair tucked behind his ear he thought he looked like a real 70’s man. Howard was a knockout, every bit of him. But what always knocked the wind out of Vince were those eyes. Like being cozied up at home and at the same time like a promise to get lost.  
It was at this moment that those eyes looked his way, just a second’s glance. Vince looks back at the TV and smiles, feeling things falling back into place where they’re meant to be between them.  
Suddenly Howard stands up.  
“Well, I’m off to bed.”  
Vince blinks at his back for a moment trying to glue his slice of peace back together. Howard is making a run for the kitchen sink taking unnaturally big steps even for his long legs.  
Vince stands up stomping over to put his plate on the counter.  
“Why do you keep running off?”  
Howard’s eyes dart around the room for a moment before he seems to steady himself.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tries to skirt around Vince into the hallway but Vince stays still and plants his socked feet.  
“Yes you do!”  
“I’m supposed to read your mind am I?” Howard’s voice is too level.  
“Yes! That’s what we do.” Vince squeaks.  
“It doesn’t work like that here, Vince, in the real world.” He sounds as if all this isn’t worth this time. The words taste sour in his mouth even as he says them.  
“What I’m talking about is you’re trying to run away from me.” Vince’s voice sounds more hurt than he wants it to.  
Howard swallows and Vince watches his adam's apple bob but he says nothing, looking at something off in the lounge. The rain outside pelts harder on the windows.  
“Are you scared of me?” Vince says much quieter.  
Silence, another bob of his throat.  
“Howard c’mon.” It’s barely audible now.  
He started out in a rage but it’s fizzling out now under the cold silence Howard is wrapping around them. Vince feels soaked by the rain again and this time Howard doesn’t give him his robe.  
“I knew it, I knew I was being a right creep,” Vince feels the unwanted tears wetting his eyes and finally gives up looking at Howard, feeling his face heat with embarrassment. “I’m sorry Howard I-”  
It’s then that Howard feels his brain catching up with his heart that’s been running a marathon in his chest and running his mouth.  
“Vince,” his voice comes out a rasp and he swallows the lump that has been persistently at his throat. “Vince I’m not scared of you, you daft idiot. I’m-”  
A crash interrupts him as the window is flung open by the wind. The storm sweeps into the room in a rage, sending posters flying off the walls and papers from the coffee table. They both run for the window and are wetted by the rain.  
Once Howard has it securely latched again he turns back to see Vince standing close by staring with big expectant eyes. A wave of protectiveness washes over him.  
The room feels even quieter than it did before, a pause waiting to be given a purpose.  
Howard steps forward, just enough to place his hand on Vince’s face, his thumb resting just below his eye where a tear track has started. He brushes it away. Much more terrifying than any creature they’ve faced are the words stuck in his throat. Only this time he can’t pull Vince behind him to protect him. He takes a breath and summons all the courage he can and looks into those bright eyes.  
Vince feels it again, all the air leaving his lungs in one breath. Howard is looking at him, he’s touching him. He’s looking in that special way that makes Vince feel like he wants the whole world to stop spinning just for them.  
“Vince I’m not afraid of you.” His voice is calmer now. “I’m afraid of the things you make me feel. The way you look at me. The way I can’t take my mind off of you. The way you make me crumble like some kind of frail idiot biscuit.”  
Vince laughs and bites his lip, another tear escaping his eye.  
“I’m so,” Howard tries to take another breath but it catches and a mortifying feeling comes over him he’s about to cry. He wants to run, he wants the ground to swallow him whole.  
Vince puts his hand on his cheek, making them a mirrored image of each other. It’s an anchor. He leans up slowly, keeping his eyes steadily on Howard’s from under his lashes.  
For a time that feels like an hour and the time it takes to snap they breathe the same air that’s warmed by the other’s lungs and shared like a secret. Their lips finally meet and it’s like nothing else. Impossibly soft but they’re both pouring out every drop of love into the gentle press of lips. Vince feels the tickle of Howard’s mustache on his upper lip and he’s sure that both of them are covered in rain and snot and tears but he can’t be bothered to care. The quiet room has a purpose now and it’s holding the fragile sounds of a kiss. After a few ticks of the clock Vince pulls away, he wants to look at Howard some more.  
As they separate Howard feels like he’s back on earth and remembers he’s crying again and that Vince is looking at him crying. Everything in him screams at him for it and he looks down, sniffling in a decidedly un-man-of-action way.  
“Howard,” Vince slides his other hand up from Howard’s shoulder to cart through his curls. “Howard I see you it’s alright my love.”  
The taller man closes his eyes for a moment and Vince worries again he’s done the wrong thing in not letting him hide. But those thoughts are melted away when he opens them and gives Vince the brightest smile, his shoulders even get involved. It’s wildly infectious and Vince finds himself beaming back at him. Howard begins giggling quietly and soon they’re both laughing.  
Between laughs Howard lays excited kisses along the trails he had laid out over Vince’s features. It’s difficult when Vince is laughing Howard’s name and trying to pull him into a real kiss again but he manages alright. After his barrage Howard sighs with the affection blooming in his chest and he doesn’t want to prune it away.  
“Thank you, little man.”  
Vince has so many things he wants to say floating around in his head, knocking at his skull to get out. But they can wait. Howard pulls Vince into an easy embrace. He lays his head on Howard’s broad chest like he had when they were small. Well, when Howard was smaller, Vince has always been small. He breathes in the ever-comforting smell of him and it’s much better wrapped in his arms than in his clothes.  
Howard lets out a long yawn.  
“Did you really wanna go to bed?” Vince asks, running his fingers over Howard's scar. He feels the vibrations of Howard’s voice rumble through him as he chuckles.  
“Yes, I did actually believe it or not.”  
“It’s hardly past 9! God, is this really what I’m in love with.”  
Howard holds him tighter for a moment, kisses the top of his head before he lets him go. “‘Fraid so,” he doesn’t think he’ll ever be over hearing that in a million years, more beautiful than any Jazz album he owns. He starts to walk away before he pauses. “Did you want to...join me?”  
Vince rolls his eyes but that blissful smile is still on his face so it’s not really effective. “Of course I do ya lump.”  
They may have very different ideas of nightly routines, and Vince may take a bit longer than usual just from nerves. But at the end of the night they both fall into Howard’s bed cozied up in the mountain of combined duvets and sheets. The rain beats at the window with a thousand tiny demanding fists and the thunder rolls overhead. But neither of them hear it, wrapped up in their own world smelling of fresh bed clothes and a thousand promised kisses in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory spicy chapter but written so soppy you'll be sick of it

Morning light is trickling in through the gap in the curtains turning everything soft and dewy like a 1970s film camera. Everything still feels dreamlike. That time just after waking up when you still remember the dreams you had before they start to fade away. Which is exactly the state that Howard finds himself in. Wispy memories floating around his mind that must be dreams. Rain-soaked kisses and the feeling of not sleeping alone. But as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes he becomes aware of a weight on his chest. Looking down he’s met with a mess of black hair sticking in all directions and a face he normally sees on the other side of the room, rather than this up close. They weren’t dreams then. A great feeling of wonder falls over him, he strokes the back of his finger over Vince’s cheek. He stirs, making a hushed sound of protest, and burrows his nose further into Howard’s pajama shirt. Although Howard would like nothing more than to stay here his bladder has other plans. He pries Vince’s koala hold off, careful not to wake him.  
Getting up just for that seemed like a waste so he stands in the hallway, his hands on his hips, and ponders his options. Mornings for Howard normally started very differently from this. Not getting dressed right off and making breakfast feels strange. On the other hand, it would feel strange to do things ordinarily today. Both options made Howard’s head spin a bit. He set on making some tea.  
The kettle screams and he reaches for two mugs from the cupboard. One is simple, candy apple red with a nice sheen on it. Something Howard had seen in a shop and couldn’t help but think of Vince. The other mug is slightly misshapen and busy with patterns etched into the earthy colors on the ceramic. Howard had laughed when Vince said he was taking up pottery but it was hard to laugh when he had carefully unwrapped it from the tissue paper. He pours the tea and plonks in the outrageous amount of sugar and milk that Vince likes. Hardly even tea anymore. The mugs leave trails of steam as he walks them back to the bedroom and sets them down on the table between their beds. Unsurprisingly, the lump under his blankets is still sleeping peacefully. The nest of blankets has been curled tighter around the lump though, a sure sign he’s only half asleep.  
Vince shifts and stretches out like a cat as Howard sits slowly down on the bed. His blue eyes open and he grimaces in a very un-Vince way, his features so accustomed to frowns. Then the sleepy fog seems to clear enough that he registers who’s there and his features relax.  
G’morning,” he croaks.  
“Morning,” Howard returns curtly. He finds his hands worrying the knitted blanket beneath him, unsure what the script is for these situations. They had kissed but neither had really had the chance to spill all those unspoken things that they had felt floating in the air around them.  
Vince’s face is stuck in a smile that probably makes him look a bit loony but what else is he meant to do? He’s in Howard’s bed. Not because he stumbled into it, but because Howard had invited him. And here Howard is, with his features all soft with sleep, sitting with him. Vince has had dreams less fulfilling than this. Only one thing is amiss.  
“Why’re you out of bed already?”  
Howard blinks at him for a moment like he’s trying to right his train of thought back on its rails. Vince loves that look.  
“I was er,” more blinks, “making tea.” He motions to the mugs on the table.  
“Well come back here I’m not done with you, Howard Moon.” Vince beckons with a finger, like a femme fatale in an old crackly black and white movie. Howard fidgets a bit more, tapping his fingers on his thigh until Vince pulls the blankets back. An inviting wave of heat wafts over him that pulls him back into bed with gentle hands. At first he lays on his side, attempting to give Vince room on the small bed but Vince makes a quiet sound of protest. Instead, he pushes him over onto his back and cozies into his side with his head pillowed on Howard’s chest. Just as he had found him that morning. Only now his eyes are open and staring unabashedly at Howard.  
“Better?” Howard asks, raising his eyebrows.  
“Much better, I was nearly catching hypothermia,” he twists a bit of black hair around his fingers in thought. It’s reminiscent of a schoolgirl with a crush, something Vince has done since Howard’s known him.  
“You’re the one who runs hot,” he scoffs.  
“You saying I’m the hot one?”  
Howard laughs. “It’s the truth isn’t it?” Vince thinks he could listen to the low thrum of Howard’s morning voice all day.  
“Yeah but you’re the sexy one. S’why people are always trying to separate us, we’re a powerful team.”  
Howard laughs harder, a little too hard since Vince is only half kidding.  
“You have to stop projecting your own whimsical ideals onto the whole of the world, Vince.” His expression is warm with a mirthful sparkle to his tiny eyes.  
Vince slaps his chest in mock horror and gasps, continuing to look like an actress from the golden age of the silver screen.  
“I am not! You’re dead sexy Howard.” Especially now, the rumpled look was always good on Howard, like an alluringly rugged farmer or a disgruntled professor. He reaches up and touches Howard’s hair just to watch a few curls fall back into place, he was right that it was soft and gentle. With this motion suddenly the air of the conversation has changed. He doesn’t mean to, but when their eyes meet again it feels slower. Like moving through honey. Howard’s face is pleasantly rosy and pulled into a crooked smile that shows a bit of his teeth. It doesn’t help that he’s absentmindedly rubbing his hands over Vince’s back.  
“Howard?”  
“Yes, Vince,” he says in a dreamy way.  
“You never said it.”  
This seems to take him out of his dreamy state. “Said what?”  
Vince’s head shifts so he’s looking away down the bed instead of at Howard. The horrible feeling he’s said something wrong jabs at him. Or not said something in this case he supposes. He angles Vince’s face back up to look at him with a hand on his chin and can’t help but rub a thumb at the scratchy stubble there. Any other day Vince would have shaved it off by now, it makes Howard feel special. “What didn’t I say, love?”  
There’s an expression on his face Howard hasn’t seen since it was peaking up at him from a mop of shaggy blonde hair. “You didn’t, I mean you sort of did but-I interrupted-I mean-” he huffs. The next words Howard can hardly hear. “You never said you love me, not really.”  
The vulnerability catches Howard off guard but he clears his throat and starts petting over Vince’s back again.  
“You know I love you, Vince,” he says through a sigh because it makes his heart race.  
Vince gives him a wry smile and wiggles up Howard’s body for a kiss. “Love you too.” He leans back just enough to see Howard’s eyelashes flutter before he kisses him again and again and then again. Each one longer than the last one and each time parting with a soft wet sound. Vince slips his tongue into the next kiss and Howard lets out a quiet hum of appreciation.  
They separate but stay close in each other’s space rubbing noses and feeling the tingle of breath on their lips.  
“Good Christ,” Howard breathes. It’s all he can do his mind feels like it’s jelly. “Vince.”  
“You really haven’t kissed anyone before?” Vince laughs breathlessly.  
“Can we not talk about that right now?” Howard whines.  
“Fair enough,” Vince complies and kisses him again. But he continues talking between kisses, much to Howard’s dismay. “Can I ask you something?” A quick kiss.  
“Yes, Vince?”  
Another teasing kiss.  
“D’you think about me?” Vince pants. Howard can feel him getting hard where he’s starting to squirm against his hip. It makes his eyes go crossed with how much he wants him.  
“Yes.”  
Vince waits for him to continue, when he doesn’t he begins to remove himself from Howard’s side.  
“Howard, is this alright? Like properly-” Before he even finishes the thought, big hands are rushing down to hold his hips in place, steadily. Howard nods. So Vince Feeling reassured, shifts to prop himself up with an elbow. This way he can see him much better.  
“Well? What do you think about, big man?”  
Howard looks down at the strip of pale skin where Vince’s shirt has ridden up. “I think about,” he swallows. “Touching you.” He hesitates before brushing his hand over Vince’s hip and under his shirt to the coveted skin. “All the beautiful sounds you might make. The ones I hear coming from your bed sometimes, when you think I’ve gone to sleep. You’re quite bad at being quiet Vince.” His cheeks are hot but he perseveres, hearing Vince’s breath catch. “I think about-god-about making love to you, what you’d feel like.” A soft gasp leaves Vince’s lips. He looks up. Vince’s eyes are deep blue now and his lip is red where he’s worried it with his teeth. “I’ve never been able to think of anyone else.”  
“I want you,” Vince whines, and Howard pulls him in for a biting kiss. Vince breaks the kiss to shuck off his shirt and swings a leg over to straddle him. He begins leaving frantic kisses in a trail from Howard’s mouth down to his neck. Beneath him he feels the hard line of Howard’s prick and moans, pressing his hot cheek into the skin.  
Howard can feel every little movement Vince makes and it’s driving him up the wall with need. He’s trying his best to be still but Vince is writhing against him, moving his hips like he’s seen him do it on stage. Another whine into Howard’s ear and his hands drop to the perfect little round of Vince’s arse. He lets out a quiet noise of surprise and Howard feels emboldened by it, giving the cheeks a little squeeze. It bounces back to Howard’s delight. Vince pulls back rosy-cheeked and smiles down at him.  
“You’re a regular rapscallion, Howard!” He says it like he’s been let loose in a candy store.  
“No I’m quite the gentlemen, you’re simply a tart, I’m being seduced.” Vince rolls his hips down at the comment, a smirk on his kiss-bitten lips. The friction is maddening and Howard throws his head back against the pillow with a grunt.  
Vince has always had a sweet little bottom and by the way that it was always readily on display through tight fabrics, he knew it all too well. Howard kept his hands where they were, dipping his thumbs into the dimples in his lower back and enjoying the moan it created. There’s a tug at his collar and Vince’s breath on his ear before he places a kiss on his sideburn.  
“Wanna see you, Howard.”  
He nods, hoping Vince could feel the movement. If he opened his mouth again he was sure all that would come out was a moan.  
Taking the shirt off proves to be a difficult task while kissing him so Vince leans back to focus on his own hands. All the hair rises on the back of his neck, a familiar sense of eyes on him. He feels the encouraging heat of two wide palms petting up and down his thighs and smiles.  
Once the barrier has been removed Vince is torn between wanting to press himself into the freckled expanse of skin he’s revealed and wanting to look longer. The problem is he wants to do everything at once. He wants to touch Howard and be touched by him and he wants to be closer to him than he’s ever gotten the chance to, he wants Howard to know how special he is. He looks up to Howard’s face so trusting and the red lovebites already blooming on his shoulder and settles on touch.  
Seeing Howard’s body is comforting but exciting, he’s seen it before but not like this and never with permission to touch. At the first contact to his sturdy northern frame Howard shivers. It makes Vince feel a rush as he runs an index finger over the twisted scar tissue on his shoulder and then follows a constellation of freckles down his peculiarly hairless chest. Howard is wonderfully soft in every way, something Vince will never be tired of. When Vince was still studying fashion Howard had been quite bony, like a big awkward gazelle, but he had always been soft on the inside. He takes a detour to leave kisses on the silky skin of Howard’s belly and hears him huff something almost like a sob. Then he’s back to his chest. On a puckish whim, he pinches a rosey nipple and Howard gasps. Not the reaction Vince was expecting but he’s pleasantly surprised. Venturing further, he places his hand over one tit and squeezes experimentally. He gets half a moan before Howard claps a hand over his face.  
“Vince-” he squeaks.  
“D’you want me to stop?” He continues kneading the soft flesh waiting for a reply, Howard’s mouth twists in a way that’s so cute he has to kiss it. He moves his hand aside, giggling while he pecks him on the mouth. “It’s okay if you like it.”  
“Is it?” Vince can hear he’s genuinely asking. His brown eyes look down and to the side, hidden beneath his eyelashes since he can’t hide behind his hand. He swallows. Vince places his hands on Howard’s rough cheeks and looks at him pointedly.  
“It’s only me, Howard.”  
At this, he meets Vince’s eyes and his body goes a little slacker as he sighs. “I suppose so, I just feel silly is all. It’s not exactly…” he trails off, motioning vaguely with a hand in the air and Vince understands.  
“You need to get out of that beige head of yours,” he says resolutely and latches onto a nipple to roll it between his teeth.  
“Shit-ah,” Howard moans with his whole body. On his end Vince finally feels like all his years of tit-based knowledge finally has a use that means something. Now that it’s Howard.  
The embarrassment is still there prickling at Howard’s face but now it only adds to the low buzz of arousal fizzling through him. Which is exceptionally dangerous right now. Vince twists with one hand and switches to his other tit lapping at it like a starving man. The wet-warmth of Vince’s tonge and the rasp of his unshaven face are a deadly combination Howard is starting to learn. His hips lurch up and he remembers he hasn’t even taken off his pants. With this realization comes a feeling, a mixture of dread and the crackling pleasure that he’s been trying so hard to stave off. Then panic joins the party as Vince bites down gently and arches his back, causing his hard on to line up with Howard’s through the thin layers of fabric.  
“Vince! Vince!” His hands fly to Vince’s shoulders desperately but it’s too late. He grinds upwards as Vince presses his hips down and he’s coming with a breathy sound.  
Oh god.  
He freezes, still panting, and covers his face with his hands. “Oh god.”  
There’s no way to come back from this, all that talk and here he was coming in his pants when Vince hadn't even properly touched him. If he could burrow back under his duvet right now he would and never return to society. But then he hears Vince calling his name softly. He peaks between his fingers. Vince has collapsed fully onto his chest, staring up at him with the widest smile on his face. He can feel Vince still hard against his belly and his hand is still palming at him. As soon as Vince has his attention, even through his fingers, it seems to uncork something in him.  
“Howard,” he rises onto his elbows and kisses his sternum. “That was well sexy,” he pants, his eyes have glazed over and his lips shine with spit. “I ain’t ever made someone shoot off that easy, just with my mouth like that.” He slowly starts coaxing Howard’s hands off his face with hasty kisses to his knuckles. “Can’t believe it-I love your tits Howard, and your prick all hot right on me, christ,” he’s working himself up and Howard feels caught up by a wave of enthusiasm, a familiar sensation when you know Vince. He comes out of his hand cave and Vince rewards him with an enthusiastic press of lips and tongue. “And now you’ll last plenty longer! That is, if you want to keep goin.”  
Howard nods then clears his throat. “Can you get off for a mo.”  
“Oh, right, yeah probably not too comfy.” Vince wobbles as he swings his legs off him and stands next to the bed.  
When Howard turns back around Vince is laid out on the bed on full display. If Vince looked angelic before he looked like heaven now, like the cysteine chapel had deposited itself in Howard’s bed. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows raised, and his hand slowly stroking over his pink member between his strong legs. All long pale limbs and swirls of dark hair leading in a garden path down to his bush that made Howard’s mouth water. Droopy eyelids open and he feels a little thrill from that look, like he’s a three course meal.  
“Like whatcha see, handsome?” Vince winks and bites back a noise into his abused lip.  
Howard smiles and hoists himself back on the bed, hovering over Vince, who in turn releases himself in favor of tangling his hands in Howard’s curls. He knows just how to pull Howard’s heartstrings to play any song he pleases. It’s playing a tune now full of warmth with the beat it keeps against his ribcage. Howard shifts to kneel between Vince’s legs. He wants to get a good look at him, to memorize him, just in case.  
Unlike Howard, Vince’s body isn’t hidden away by his clothes but accentuated by them. Fashion is something he can use like paint, he paints who he is and what he wants others to see of him. This is nowhere near the same as seeing the skin where his shirt is cut far too low or the outline of him through sparkling sequined suits. Howard leans down and kisses the baby-soft skin, slowly, letting his lips linger on each kiss. He follows the curve of his chest and kisses each nipple into a little point. Now that he doesn’t feel that pull of desperation, he takes his time. Vince’s body is small but certainly not bony, it’s supple in a way that insinuates both femininity and masculinity in the curves. Vince’s eyes are set on Howard’s face as it travels down his torso, he’s suspiciously quiet. Howard pauses, he’s reached the end of the garden path. Musky scent fills his nose, it’s almost dizzying. He holds Vince’s hips firmly and hears him keen. It’s all the more dizzying how small Vince’s hips are in his hands.  
“Howard, are you-” A moan cuts his sentence short, his mouth drops open and a hand flies into his own hair.  
Howard moans back, just feeling the weight of Vince in his hand. Vince’s cock is pretty Howard thinks, or thinks as much as he can when his brain is filled with cotton. Long and blushy standing against his pale stomach. He looks into Vince’s eyes and takes him into his mouth slowly, starting from the glistening tip. Although he tries, he can’t fit much of him and that thought alone makes him groan. When he begins bobbing his head Vince groans low in his throat and Howard has to hold his hips a little tighter. Vince’s eyes are set onto his with a gaze that’s syrupy sweet with lust and affection. Howard has to close his own again. To accommodate Vince’s length he uses one hand to stroke in time with his movements. He traces a vein with his tongue and hears a hissed curse. A hand on him threading wispy fingers through his hair makes his eyes blink open.  
“Your mouth is genius Howard,” Vince moans and Howard hums around his cockhead. “Feels so good,” Vince gasps, his voice thin.  
Damn his throat, Howard breathes out and tries to take him deeper. Vince makes a low choked-out sound rubbing his thumb in the hollow of Howard’s cheek. The whole affair makes Howard’s ignored cock harden with need. He reaches down and palms himself, sighing at the contact.  
Vince moans out, “are u touching yourself?”  
He pulls off with a sloppy sound and continues stroking.  
“Should I not be,” he rasps, his throat is a little sore.  
“No, I wanna touch you! I didn’t even get to see you! C’mere,” Vince pouts at him, fiddling with his hair. Howard laughs and crawls up his body obediently for a kiss. Quite quickly their positions are switched so Howard is once again on his back with Vince perched atop. From the events of the morning Howard gleens that it’s his favorite place to be. Just as he’s settled, Vince perks up, a light in his eyes. Howard can practically see the neon light bulb appear above his head and a ding go off.  
“Woah, wait, hold on now what’s that face for, sir?”  
Vince giggles to himself conspiratorily and leans over Howard to his dresser drawer. Howard suppresses the urge to smack his arse just to hear him squeal.  
“I’m gonna get myself all nice for you while I touch you, multitasking!” He says it like he’s just found a new way to wear shoes. He’s beaming at Howard, his dark hair sticking slightly to his flushed face and Howard feels his chest tighten.  
“You can’t multitask to save your life, Vince.”  
“Yea, normally,” he pops open the lube and coats his delicate fingers in it. “But this is different, I know how to get someone off easy!”  
Despite already feeling flushed Howard can feel a tingling blush on his cheeks from the thought of what Vince is doing. His left hand disappears out of Howard’s line of sight as the other finally gives Howard’s cock attention where it’s dripping on his stomach. The tight slide of his fingers is just enough pressure. It’s hypnotizing watching the subtle movements of the rounded muscles of his thighs. Watching his tongue come to swipe across his mouth. Howard forgets himself and nearly shouts when Vince rubs his thumb at the weeping head. The sound earns him a cheeky smirk and a slightly distracted kiss.  
Vince leans back up afterward, almost falling to the side and shakes his sweaty hair out of his face. Another move that Howard has seen him do many times deep into a performance as he shouts into the mic. Whenever it was one of Vince’s bands his eyes would light up when they found Howard in the crowd or in his usual booth in the back. He’s panting slightly, his eyelashes are stuck together with sweat and his strokes go a little awry for a moment when he sees Howard watching. Howard struggles to think of a book that’s made him feel more things at once. He tries his best to convey all of them by rubbing his thumb gently over Vince’s skin just where his thigh meets his hip.  
“Vince,” he’s already lost in his eyes again. “Could I...er,” he blinks a few times trying to catch his brain. “Could I…” he trails again.  
Vince huffs out a laugh and shifts in place, waiting for him to continue. “Could you what?”  
Howard looks away but quickly looks back at Vince. His face is so earnest, he’s trying his best. Vince stops all movement and lays against him again. It’s almost automatic for Howard’s arms to wrap around him. Such a feeling of safety that Vince forgets for a moment what he was going to say but he stays on course.  
“Did you want to finger me?” He says as if he’s asking about dinner plans.  
Howard’s eyes go wide in a way that makes Vince’s heart feel too big for his body. He swallows a giggle, wanting to be very serious now. It isn’t funny, just horribly charming. As charming as anything this massive shy man does. Then Howard murmurs “yes” and it hits Vince at once how hot that is. He swallows thickly.  
“I don’t know what I’m-what-what am I meant to do?” Howard stutters but his voice still rumbles through Vince’s body. He shivers as he sits back up.  
“It’s well simple,” he’s trying very hard to sound unaffected. He coats Howard’s fingers and a little jitter of excitement dances through him. “Just be gentle, man of action.” Howard hisses a laugh through his wolfish teeth.  
Of course he knows Howard is as gentle as a lamb, sees the anxious twitches in his steady expression right now. But after saying those words he’s lost in thoughts about those who weren’t Howard. People with a sharp smile and big hands that he’d let in because they made him think of the person he’d rather be with. They weren’t all that bad of course, but they were never quite right. They weren’t the man who performed scat solos in his sleep and wore terrible hawaiian shirts to their gigs and brushed his knuckles against Vince’s hip like he was something precious.  
“Hey,” Howard’s voice brings him back. The square tips of his fingers are rubbing over Vince’s entrance with care. “You go somewhere, little man?” His other hand cups Vince’s face.  
“Nowhere special,” he sighs and closes his eyes. “I’ve already done most of the work you silly man, you can go ahead.”  
“Woah there, I’m new to this there’s no need for name calling.”  
Thick knuckled fingers stretch Vince open in stark contrast to his own just a moment ago. It’s a smooth stretch and he immediately tries to rock back on them. Howard gets the message and starts moving them slowly in and out.  
“It’s so warm,” Howard marvels and Vince doesn’t know whether to laugh or moan so he makes a noise somewhere in the middle. “Feel good?”  
“Fantastic, could be faster.” Howard hums his acknowledgement and speeds up. Vince is starting to whine high in his throat, losing what little composure he had been holding onto. “Didn’t really think about how big your fingers were, Howard.” He twists the next stroke and gets a quiet curse in return. The sound just throws oil on the flames licking at his skin. “Wanted you for so long Howard, think about you all the time, wanna see you come again.” Without prompting the fingers curl inside him perfectly and his eyes shoot open with a moan. His mind wanders holding Howard’s cock, he’s sizing it up now that it’s in his hand. He pulls the foreskin back gently and watches a bead of precum dribble onto his knuckles. “Pleeeeease, Howard,” he chokes.  
“I can’t read your mind, Love.” Howard murmurs. Frustration bubbles over Vince like an unwatched pot and he drops his hands to Howard’s belly to rut against his cock. “Fuck, Vince!”  
If it were up to Vince’s baser self currently screeching like an ape and running around in the back of his brain he’d come just like this. With just the feeling of Howard’s fingers inside him the sweet slide of their skin. But better things await and he wants them more. He’s pulled into a kiss full to the brim with affection as he removes Howard’s hand. His hands scramble over the bedding to find the bottle of lube only to have it offered up in Howard’s hand. Their fingers meet for a moment and suddenly it’s all very still. Even the little motes of dust stop floating.  
“Howard?”  
“Hmm?” He hums his reply as his stomach feels fluttery with anxiousness and excitement.  
Vince is looking at him with apprehension.“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s only been a day after all.”  
Howard shakes his head but realizes his mistake and quickly opens his mouth to clarify. “No it hasn’t.”  
“What?” Vince cocks his head to the side.  
“It hasn’t only been a day, Vince, I’ve loved you for much longer than-”  
“Oh stop it, Howard, you big softie,” he says through a smile. Howard smiles back.  
They keep their eyes locked as Vince starts sinking down, taking Howard slowly. Watching Vince’s eyelashes flutter the same as the feeling around his cock feels like the wind is being knocked out of him. Their moans echo each other in the quiet room as he bottoms out. Any attempt at logical thought goes out the window like a brick. He can feel Vince wrapped around him, swallowing him whole and in this moment he thinks he understands piety. He sees Vince’s porcelain body above him and he wishes he knew how to paint. It feels like he could write a novel with the thoughts in his head but nothing comes out of his mouth. All he can do is hold him a little tighter. Vince begins moving and Howard moves with him, meeting him halfway. He’s saying Howard’s name again and again sometimes in soft moans, sometimes like a plea, sometimes a shout.  
“Howard-Howard how does it feel?” Vince’s voice comes out breathy, just over the quiet smack of skin meeting skin. He feels Howard twitch inside him. It feels just as good as Vince knew it would.  
“So good, Vince, perfect,” he runs his hands over Vince’s little paunch tummy and up his chest. “Wanna kiss you.”  
The last words spoken are flooded with such need it makes Vince feel heavy, like he’s holding Howard instead of the other way around. The angle will be clumsy, he knows that. But he does it nonetheless, trying to keep moving as he meets Howard’s lips. Just as before Howard encircles him with strong arms. This time though, Vince yelps in surprise as Howard changes his hold and flips him onto the bed like a ragdoll.  
“Howard!” He shouts, toeing the line between surprised and out of his mind with how sexy that was. His head pops up from where he was laying sloppy kisses on Vince’s neck. Little tendrils of hair have fallen around his face and over his eyes. Vince wants to kiss him silly.  
“What?” Howard says with his best innocent tone.  
“Nothing, just kiss me already!”  
They moan into each other’s mouths when Howard resituates himself back inside. The new angle lets Howard set the pace and as much as he wanted to go slow the encouragement from Vince in the forms of “faster, harder, right there Howard, like that Howard, god that’s it” turn off his brain completely. He snakes his arms underneath Vince’s body and they find a new rhythm that has them both losing composure. It feels right being this close, alternating between uncoordinated kisses and hiding their faces in the other’s neck. Howard finds Vince is very talkative even here. Vince finds that Howard likes to leave sweet kisses on his chest when he hears something he particularly likes.  
It’s not long before Vince’s moans turn into staccato little “ah’s” and Howard pulls back to see it. Vince’s hands are clinging to his back and he can feel where his hardness is trapped between their bodies.  
“Ah, touch me...Howard...please...‘m close.” Vince slurs between sharp thrusts.  
“Me too.” He reaches down to stroke Vince, loving how he can see him falling apart.  
It feels like seconds before Vince’s whines reach new heights and he comes between them. His eyelashes fanned out against his cheeks, his mouth caught in a silent yell.  
Howard is not far behind. His head drops down and moans so loud Vince is sure if it weren’t for his shoulder the whole neighborhood would start banging on the door. He feels the intensity of Howard’s release inside him with the last shaky thrusts and wraps his legs around him tightly. Howard shivers through the last little aftershocks and heaves a long sigh. His mustache tickles Vince as he kisses along his neck and down to his collar bones.  
He comes back up for air and instead loses his breath from Vince’s flushed cheeks shining with sweat, his perfect mouth slightly open as if still in a kiss, his eyebrows drawn up over big glassy eyes.  
“You’re so beautiful, Vince.” Howard is smiling dopily at him with his crows feet in full force. Warm with afterglow and his eyes shining.  
Vince wants to laugh. He wants so badly to roll his eyes and shove Howard off him and put his clothes on it’s so corny. It’s unfair that instead he swallows a sob in his throat as a tear rolls down his cheek. He hates the immediate panic he sees in Howard’s features and the way he shifts to cradle his face.  
“Vince? Have I done something wrong?” He strokes his cheek and moves the sweaty hair from his forehead.  
“No I-” He sniffles. “I never do this, I don’t get it,” he wipes his face with the backs of his hands. Howard hasn’t stopped staring at him. “Well embarrassin’,” he laughs.  
Howard seems to relax but he doesn’t stop petting Vince’s hair.  
“Hey, the position of big blubbering idiot is taken. You trying to take my job, sir?”  
Vince laughs and sniffs again. “Yeah, you’re rotten at it.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah!” Vince wrinkles his nose at him. Howard chuckles and kisses the pointy tip of it then rests their foreheads together. Feeling calmer, Vince drops his legs onto the bed, allowing Howard to slip out of him and roll onto his side. Vince gets up on wobbly legs and comes back with a flannel and they clean up a bit.  
They really should get up. By now the sun’s fully out and blindingly bright through the shutters. Like its wagging a big celestial finger at them both. They’re laying in bed curved into each other like twin parentheses with just enough space to still feel the heat from the other’s skin. Vince is humming to himself while he plays with Howard’s fingers. He can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.  
“Howard?”  
“Yes, Vince?”  
“How was it?” Vince’s face is expressionless, his eyes set on a callus on Howard’s thumb where he flicks his lighter.  
“It was wonderful, Vince. Genius even,” Vince can hear the smile in his voice, then feels it in their kiss. Just a touch of lips that lingers for two beats of a heart.  
“You were amazin’-” Vince starts but he sees Howard scowling. “What?”  
“The tea’s gone cold,” he mutters. Vince laughs and kisses the frown lines between his brows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing but I hope it was good :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my first fic I hope you enjoyed it :)


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